That first night
we sleep side by side
on a soft grey couch
television on
background noise
to distract us
 
Sweating, I wake
midway through a
dark night
to static and panic
I press bare knees
to my chest then
 
tiptoe to the kitchen
methodically
grab a bottle
uncork and sniff
search for a glass
and pour, hands shaking
 
dry floral hues tickle
my throat as I lean
on the cluttered counter
and try to ignore
that he suffers
in the next room
 
Aimless. I saunter
barefoot on linoleum
reading recipe cards
I yank open
 a drawer and stack
 pens in piles
 
alphabetize
the spice rack
Anise, Basil, Cloves
I scrub a burnt pot
until my fingers are raw
and take another gulp
 
The rooms are
hazy and quiet
But for a fizzle of
late night talking heads
saying nothing
I hang on anyway
 
to every useless word